Wilted
by Lightning and Ice
Summary: Now I know. I know that I was a rambunctious kit and an unruly apprentice. I know that I was a terrible mentor. I know I was an outcast. I know I fled to my enemy. I know that I loved, and I was betrayed. I know that with a swipe of my claws, I threw it all away. I know why I am fading from the dark forest, and I know I wish I didn't.


On the far side of the dark forest, there is a pool.

Its waters are crystal clear, a change from the usual muck. Still, I wouldn't dare stick my muzzle in it. No one seems to know where it came from, but most agree that it's some leftover from Starclan. Really, who else would leave something like that in a forest full of murderers?

Of course, I don't know for sure what would happen if I were to drink form it. No one out right speaks of it, especially those who have experienced it. But the rumors don't conflict.

_You go back. You see the reason, why you've been left in the shadows. You see all of it. It's punishment. It's for the guilt. They want us to feel remorse. They want us to know we are damned_.

Even if that's all true, if it could truly destroy a cat's spirit, I can't stop thinking about it lately. I can't help wondering if, just maybe, it will be my salvation. I am fading, my pelt dimming so much I can see the trees through it. My memories went not long before my pelt, and I can't help but wonder if they're connected. That just maybe, if I can remember, I won't fade.

It's not the best of ideas, but I'm running out of time. The only thing I'm completely sure of anymore is my name, and I had to be reminded of that the other day.

Then again, that may not be my fault. Recently, every time I hear someone call out for me, my name just doesn't sit right. Rosefrost, what I've been called since I've arrived here, is familiar but wrong in some fundamental way.

And maybe that's it. If I can't remember my own name, why should I remember fear? Why should I keep reminding myself not to come too close, and to never, ever drink from the pool?

One day, my paws drift to it almost without my noticing. I sink down with my legs flattened under me, head lowered to look into the water. My reflection looks back, almost white pelt blending in a bit too well with the water.

I don't let myself hesitate. I quickly lap up one, two swallows of the water. Then I drop my head to my paws, fully expecting to fall asleep, and dream for the first time in seasons.

After sitting awkwardly with my eyes closed for several seconds, I peek at the pool.

It is illuminated with the image of a nursery.

I watch, transfixed, as a glowing queen shows off her kits to a purring tom.

"This dark tom is Breezekit, and these are his sisters." She noses two other kits away from her belly.

"The darker she-cat is Greykit, and the light one is Frostkit."

My heart slams against my chest as Frostkit looks up. Her pelt is the exact shade that mine used to be, and our eyes are the same dull green.

Frostkit is undeniably me. I guess that could explain the frost part of my name, but not how I came to be Rosefrost.

"They're beautiful, Snowpelt," The tom purrs. He dips his nose and nuzzles each kit in turn. As he gets to Frostkit, she (I? Thinking of this little, innocent kit as myself seems bizarre.) bats at him with her tiny paws.

The kits are friends as soon as they open their eyes. Their dynamic is plain to see, as they grow and play.

It's Frostkit who first comes up with the outrageous ideas.

"I think we should explore Brightstar's den, to make sure there are no Rainclan enemies hiding!"

Greykit is the closest they get to a voice of reason.

"Wouldn't she know if there was an enemy warrior in her nest?"

Brezekit is the only one brash enough to try any of it.

"Breezekit, why were you tearing up my nest?"

"I was only trying to make sure there were no Rainclan warriors, Brightstar. Honest!"

It's ridiculously adorable amid the shadows and sharpened claws of the dark forest, almost unsettlingly so. Still, it lets me relax. This won't hurt me. This kit won't be doing anything worthy of the dark forest any time soon.

They play right up until there apprenticeship, (which was delayed a quarter moon when they stole all the finches from the fresh kill pile to spite a warrior who insulted Snowpelt and really liked finches) best friends ready to take on the next big adventure together.

So it's a bit sad when as soon as they get to the apprentice den, Breezepaw strides right away from his sister and up to Brackenpaw, the nine moon old son of the deputy and doesn't look back.

Frostpaw's mentor is a mess. Petalflight is a slip of a cat, hardly bigger than Frostpaw. She shies away from fighting and discipline and does absolutely nothing to stop Frostpaw from assuming Breezepaw's role as troublemaker.

It's plain to see this is a bad arrangement. With Frostpaw in charge, Greypaw is coerced into doing progressively more annoying things to the poor cats of the clan. Until, that is, her competent mentor steps in and forbids her from being alone with Frostpaw out of camp.

Frostpaw on her own is no less terrifying, at least to Petalflight. She channels all the energy and rambunctiousness from her misadventures with Greypaw into the training sessions. Petalflight tries being nice, tries being indifferent, and tries begging. It doesn't keep Frostpaw from mouthing off, arguing, refusing to cooperate, and wandering off.

In fact, she wanders so far one day Petalflight panics. Frostpaw strolls about the territory for the whole day and part of the night, unaware that Petalflight has called a search for her.

That was the end of her apprenticeship with Petalflight.

Her next mentor is a much better fit, in my opinion. It almost seems like I remember him, recognize him before Frostpaw really knows him. Flintfoot. A senior warrior, strict and not willing to put up with this young cat's antics.

It's actually a bit amusing, watching Frostpaw wrangle for the upper paw. She mouths off, he tells her she's lost the privilege to speak and she hunts in silence for the rest of the day. She argues, he tells her to try it her way and makes her explain why she failed. She refuses to cooperate, he pushes back her assessment.

And when she wanders, he does… Nothing. I'm a bit surprised when he just walks back to camp when she strolls away from the lesson. There are no patrols; I don't even think he tells Brightstar.

She stumbles into camp in the middle of the night, whimpering in hunger and fear and cold, and not a word is said about it.

So when Brightstar calls Flintfoot into her den, she's immensely satisfied.

_She's going to tell him to stop being so mean to me. _

She thinks of it the whole time he's in there. Never again will she be silenced, or humiliated, or forced not to talk to her sister. He'll apologize, and so will Brightstar for ever making the mistake of assigning this terrible cat to be her mentor.

As soon as Flintfoot leaves her den, Brightstar calls her in. She quivers from nose to tail-tip in excitement the whole way.

"Frostpaw, look at this stick."

She pulls a short, stubby stick from her nest.

Frostpaw glances at it, and sees it's, well, a stick. Scratched and broken at one end, but unremarkable. I'm just as confused looking down at it through the pool.

"Flintfoot and I were discussing when you would be ready for your assessment."

She seems a bit confused by why they've jumped to this topic, but still nods.

"He says he's had to punish you frequently, and that he's kept track of every lesson he's had to repeat."

Ah, so she' going to tell her she understands how unfair that is, she thinks. I doubt that's it, but I honestly don't really know where she's going with this.

"He did this by making notches on this stick. Frostpaw, look closely and count the notches."

She wrinkles her nose and bends her head to it. Are those scratches all notches?

After counting, eyes wide, she raises her head.

"How many?" Brightstar asks.

"Twenty three…" she murmurs, apparently non-believing...

"A bit louder? I can't hear you."

"Twenty. Three."

"Just as I thought. This would put you at twenty three days behind, wouldn't it? So you'll have your assessment twenty three days after your littermates."

Frostpaw can only stare in shock. "But… That's not fair! He's so mean to me; he wants me to be an apprentice forever.'

Brightstar only shakes her head. "Don't you think you were a bit mean to him, too? You argued, didn't do what you were told, ignored him, all kinds of rude things. Flintfoot is completely within his rights to do what he did.'

When her 'logical' attempt fails, Frostpaw switches to a new one: defiance.

"You can't make me. I'll learn to be a warrior alone, and a better one than Flintfoot ever could be. I'll become leader, and I'll make sure all the mentors are nice."

"Okay, if that's how you want to do this, Frostpaw." She clears her throat and sits up straight. "I order you as the leader of Stormclan to obey your mentor, and live out any punishment he gives you."

Frostpaw slumps and I foolishly assumed that she was defeated, that this event set my paws on the path of a wise warrior…

"Or what?"

Now, Brightstar smirks. "Or I'll personally ensure you don't become a warrior until your siblings are elders."

For the first time in her short life, Frostpaw is humbled. She hardly speaks, does everything she's told and nothing more. I guess this in itself is a form of rebellion, but it's a lesser one. And Flintfoot makes it very clear; the only way to become a warrior is to train as one.

Flintfoot. I wonder what he thinks of me now, up in Starclan. He thought he had tamed his wayward apprentice, helped mold her into a better cat, but now…

I sharply draw my attention back to the pool. Frostpaw is sitting in the camp, with all other cats around her. A clan meeting, or a-

Ceremony. Greypaw and Breezepaw sit under the Clan Peak with their mentors. Flintfoot sits close to Frostpaw, probably expecting her to make a scene. She doesn't, though. She sits, silent, as Greypaw's mentor affirms that she is ready to be a warrior and Breezepaw's too. No one looks at Frostpaw, whose mentor is keeping her close like a wayward kit.

When the chants of, "Greystorm! Breezeclaw!' die down, Flintfoot nudges her.

"Don't you have something to say to them?"

She plods over, and waits for the crowd to thin. When it does, she steps up to her siblings.

"Congratulations. I'm proud of you." she mews.

"You'll be with us, soon. I'm sure you will. I'm proud of you, too." Greystorm mews kindly.

Breezeclaw scoffs.

I can almost remember, now. The anger, at the condescension in her voice. It probably wasn't intended, but that made it worse. She did it without thinking. And Breezeclaw, who she hadn't really spoken to in moons, finding her amusing. Probably pathetic, too.

She starts to respond, with something equally as scathing, but then she catches sight of white fur as soon as I do.

Snowpelt. My mother, who looks just like me, who loved me as a kit but seems to have forgotten after the Petalflight incident.

She doesn't want to hear it. Hear her mother fawn over the good kits, then embarrassedly look over at the poor apprentice. Stumble over her words as she insists that she is equally as proud of her, and happy that she was improving, she'd walk away, and muttered quietly to her mate about what they had done wrong.

Frostpaw beats her to it. She shuffles off to the apprentice den, and lies in her nest among the kits half her age.

She sleeps fitfully, guarded by her littermates.

The next day, she does more than numbly comply with Flintfoot's lessons. In fact, she participates with a passion, fighting like her life actually hangs in the balance and hunting like she's starving.

When the lesson is over, and they're both panting, Flintfoot asks:

"Why so enthusiastic?"

"Twenty two more days," She pants out.

"We'll see," Is the only response she gets.

I have to admire Frostpaw in the coming days. There is a saying in the dark forest, that Starclan fears us because we are powerful. Capable of great things. Despicable things, but great ones. Every cat has their own explanation as to why, and I think I finally have mine: it takes nothing to blindly comply, to be good and honorable like you are taught. It takes strength to arise to your own goals, to succeed with everything against you.

Of course, Frostpaw isn't anywhere near that level yet. She's not a pure little kitten, sweetness embodied, but she's still relatively innocent. But bit by bit, my story is coming together. Rosefrost got her start somewhere, and I'm far from innocent. It seems I've been fighting head-on for longer than I thought.

At twenty days left, she begins to embrace Flintfoot's steep orders. As annoying as it is, he is right, and she stops dragging her paws. If she wants to pass, to even be ready for her assessment, she might as well take the advice of someone who's already done it.

Eighteen days.

Breezeclaw comes to a battle training session. They spar, and he wins.

Fifteen.

Brightstar compliments her on her hunting skills when she brings in a pigeon, and mouse, and a squirrel.

Twelve.

Breezeclaw comes again. She wins.

Eleven.

She and Greystorm are out together on a hunting patrol, alone, for the first time in moons. They talk, but it's nothing like how they used to be. No more prank planning, or pure playfulness, just small talk, quick jokes, and several comments on some Brambletail character.

Eight.

A step backwards.

Brakenclaw comes with Breezeclaw for sparring practice. Breezeclaw insists, in hushed hisses, that she throw the fight. If he looks bad in front of him, he'll be humiliated/reputation ruined/very angry.

She refuses, and beats him blind, cursing him all the way. Why should his reputation be more important than hers? Is his idol's impression of him more important than her finally becoming a warrior?

There's more, but even I'm a bit shocked to hear such a young cat say that. Flintfoot scolds her for being a bad sport. Brakenclaw jabs them both simultaneously:

"Wow, Breezeclaw, I thought you were better than to be beaten by and overgrown apprentice. I guess I was right earlier, when I said I'm twice the warrior you'll ever be."

Frostpaw boils for a moment, but springs before all the reasons this is a bad idea can catch up to her. Her honor, and even her good-for-nothing brother's is on the line here. Flintfoot drags her off, and says if she's going to act like a kit, he'll treat her like one. Another day is added, and Breezepaw goes back to camp with his tail between his legs, with a limping Brakenclaw leaning on his shoulder.

Eight.

Frostpaw is perfectly obedient. In fact, I'm pretty sure it's half sarcasm. I know how to behave; I just didn't think that situation warranted it. Technically, she does nothing wrong, and the day is dropped.

Six.

She happens upon Greystorm and Brambletail talking quietly in a secluded corner of the territory. Excuses are made, but the only thing she takes away is how big the gap between her and her littermates really is.

Four.

Flintfoot says he has she's caught up. The practice all day, but I can swear Flintfoot snuck in some new moves.

One.

Snowpelt says she's proud of her.

And then, finally, it comes; her assessment. Se hunts, and brings back one of each type of prey, just as instructed. One bird, one tree-animal, one ground-animal.

In the battle section, she spars with Brakenclaw. It's perhaps the most satisfying thing imaginable to watch the smirks slowly slip off his face, only to be replaced by a scowl. She would have won, if Flintfoot hadn't told them he'd seen enough.

She makes exactly four mistakes.

In catching the bird, she let her paw slip and lost her first bird entirely. It took her far too long to find a second.

Her ground prey is a squirrel. Her tree prey is a squirrel. The first squirrel was in a tree, and the second on the ground, and whoever was watching her would know that, but it's still worrying.

In the battle section, her first mistake is simple: She muddles her paws and strikes with her right when her left would have been a much more serious hit.

Her second mistake is far worse: she shifts all of her weight on to one paw while making that strike. Brakenclaw hardly notices as she bats his shoulder, and then pulls her paws out from under her in one strike. She recovers, but she shouldn't have had to.

After the battle section, Flintfoot pads out from a tree. They gather up her prey, and walk slowly to camp.

I'm a little surprised when Frostpaw doesn't try to worm some answers out of him on their way back, but her mouth is full of squirrel. Talking may just be too difficult.

As soon as they're back, Flintfoot goes into Brightstar's den, leaving Frostpaw to rattle around in camp. As warriors go in and out on patrols, they wish her luck. She barely responds to any of them, preferring to groom her forepaw again and again.

Finally, after moons of waiting, rooted to one spot in the camp, she sees a sign of movement from Brightstar's den. Flintfoot pad out ahead of her, heading towards Frostpaw. Brightstar turns as soon as she's out, climbing towards the Clan Peak.

I swear, I've never seen a cat, alive or dead, shake so hard.

Frostpaw looks like she's in her own world the whole way to the spot where she'll be made a warrior. She doesn't seem to notices the quick brushes of tails across her flank, the soft purrs, or even the one crotchety elder who peeks out of the den only to snort out a "Finally!"

I do. I see it all, from my safely removed vantage point. I see Brightstar call for the clan to another, I see Greystorm and Snowpelt angle themselves towards her, and I see Brightstar begin the ceremony.

"Stormclan, it is once again time to honor a new warrior. Flintfoot has told me that though the path to this day has been longer than most for Frostpaw, she has finally reached its end.

"I, Brightstar, leader of Stormclan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. She has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend her to you as a warrior in her turn.

"Frostpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?"

Frostpaw gulps before answering.

"I do."

"Then by the powers of Starclan, I give you your warrior name. Frostpaw, from this moment you will be known as Frostleap. Starclan honors your energy and persistence, and we welcome you as a full warrior of Stormclan."

There is cheering. There is family and friends she'd forgotten she had, all congratulating her. Through it all, she stays quiet, glowing with pride but never speaking. Even when her sister pads up and purrs like there's no tomorrow, all she does is muzzle back.

I understand. Sometimes a moment is so perfect, it's precious and fragile and you can't help but worry that your own words may shatter it, and it's safer just to sit back and let it happen.

Her vigil doesn't look like anything special. There are no enemy attacks, no invading badgers, not even a wayward squirrel. She sit, guards, and flinches at every little noise until morning. If she's thinking of anything important, it's still lost to me. Flintfoot dismisses her at dawn, and she goes to sleep it the warriors den in a nest near Greystorm's.

Maybe it's me. Maybe since I've been watching, just waiting for something terrible to happen, I can't appreciate the good. My eyes are too jaded to see anything beautiful. Surely I'm so out of touch with the clans I just don't get it anymore.

Because being a warrior looks horribly, devastatingly boring.

Frostleap has worked for moons and moons, with this as her primary goal. It's taken more than she's ever given anything, but she's finally living the dream.

Apparently, at this age I dreamed of hunting, patrolling and sleeping in a bigger nest. And absolutely nothing else.

She's happy, but I'm bored out of my mind. I'm just watching a much nicer version of what I do in the dark forest.

It's boring and a bit painful to watch, honestly. Where is the adventure? The life of a warrior is filled with battles, injuries, love, drama, excitement. Or something like that, I thought.

The closest thing I get is when Greystorm asks to go on a walk with Frostleap, something completely out of character. I can tell Frostleap's worried, but I'm just happy that something's finally happening.

"Frostleap, I have wonderful news! I'm having Brambletail's kits!"

Poor Frostleap chokes on the breath she was taking. She sputters for a bit, before regaining her composure.

"When?" She wheezes out.

"Sometime next moon. Maybe you could be one's mentor, too!"

"That's wonderful, Greystorm." She leans over to muzzle her sister, and they're happy.

Even up in the dark forest, I have to stifle a purr. It's ridiculous, of course. Sometime soon, there's going to be some kind of disaster, and Frostleap will die and wake up terrified in the dark forest. I don't know if she'll ever meet these kits, but even if she does it's probably not going to be a good thing for anyone involved.

I try to push that to the back of my mind, and soak up the happiness for all it's worth. There is no joy that I have found in the dark forest, only superficial amusement brought about the pain of others. If I can witness something joyful, I want to get all I can from it.

So when it ends, and Frostleap and Greystorm head to different dens again, I'm not too shocked.

The moon passes, as uneventful now as it was then, until on a clear green-leaf night, Greystorm kits.

Frostleap isn't allowed into the nursery, which irks me. Aren't she cat littermates usually allowed in?

So she paces the night outside of the nursery and I practically "groom" away what little substance is left in my pelt as Greystorm's shrieks shatter the air. New life is not a familiar situation any more.

When Frostleap is finally allowed in the den, Greystorm is already asleep, curled around two adorable kits.

Frostleap beams, and I draw back in horror.

There's nothing wrong with either kit, they're both perfect. I don't see any omens pressed into their fur. In all honesty, I don't know which one is making me feel this way.

It's a vision of newborn kits, probably long dead. There's no way it could hurt me.

Still, I wait until Frostleap falls asleep in the warriors den to open my eyes.

As the next six moons pass in the pool, I find my mind wandering. Watching Frostleap be warrior has long since lost its excitement, and I can't shake the panic that bubbles up, quietly inside my pelt when I see this kit. I've figured out it's Daisykit that's causing the problem. So I stretch, walk in circles, even snag a runty mouse from nearby.

Finally, something exciting happens: Daisykit and her brother, Brownkit, are apprenticed.

My tail swishes frantically across the dirt as Brownpaw is assigned to Breezeclaw, and Daisykit comes forward.

"Daisykit, you are six moons old and ready to begin training as a warrior. Your mentor will be…"

Not me not me not me…

"Frostleap."

Foxdung.

I huddle, legs tucked in, fur bristling, and claws out, as far from the pool as I can be while still being able to see the images in it. It's ridiculous. It's cowardly. It definitely doesn't befit a fierce warrior of the dark forest.

That doesn't stop me from doing it.

I start to feel silly after the first few sessions. Daisypaw is just a little kit, having fun and learning. She's a bit rambunctious and talks back a bit, and occasionally wanders…

Oh, Starclan, she's just like me.

Okay, maybe not just like me, but the similarities are there. I'm not sure if Frostleap sees it, but it's enough to make some of my fear feel justified.

The little bit of tension that I had let diffuse comes back tenfold. Being a mess of an apprentice didn't work out well for Frostleap, and Frostpaw's not going to be enough to keep Daisypaw from going down the same path.

I watch, alert even though there's nothing I can do about it, as things worsen. Frostleap reacts with anger, not wisdom, to all of the little things Daisypaw does. Daisypaw keeps doing annoying things because she hasn't been given a good reason not to. Frostleap starts to believe that Daisypaw hates her, want them both to fail.

It's not until a big battle training lesson, though, that things really fly apart.

"Daisypaw! Are you listening? Where do you strike when you wish to distract your enemy and let you get away?"

"Umm..." She looks up from the hole she was scratching in the mud. "Maybe… The muzzle?"

Frostleap growls in response. "If you want to get your paw bitten off, the sure, why not? Try again."

Daisypaw fidgets, her eyes scanning the sky like the answer is in the clouds. Finally, she says, in a forced cocky tone: "I don't know and I don't really care. I'll just be a queen, and leave the battles to the brutes."

The pointed look is for Frostleap, but my pelt still burns. The fear ebbs away for a moment, replaced with frustration.

"No, you will be a warrior and fight when your leader decides! And if your lack of training gets you killed, there'll be no one to blame but you!" Frostleap snaps.

For the next several seconds there is silence. Frostleap paces, looking as agitated as ever and thinking furiously. Daisypaw sits silently, grooming a paw.

Frostleap battles with herself.

Is she trying to be infuriating? Does she want us both to be failures?

Even if she does, what would I do about it? I've proved I can't discipline her.

But when I acted up, Flintfoot would give me the punishment that directly contradicted what I'd done. She won't learn to fight, so I'll make her see how important training is.

Panic surges up in me, choking m, as I understand what Frostleap means. I don't believe she really will; hope she'll reconsider, until Frostleap paces around to Daisypaw, and barks out a command;

"Up. We're sparring."

I don't let myself look at Daisypaw. I don't let myself see the fear and confusion that's surely painted over her face. I don't let myself see her scramble into a position she thinks she can fight in.

But I can't stop from hearing the little scoff under Frostleap's breath.

I don't know, or don't remember what compels Frostleap to do this. I don't understand what warped her sense of normalcy enough to make her think this is an acceptable training method.

Frostleap hisses out a "Begin," and I hear her slink forward. I hear Daisypaw whimper a bit, and the fighting behind and I don't know what's what anymore.

I keep my eyes shut like a coward who can't face what she's done, past whimpers and blows and tumbles, but they shoot open at the sound of a cry.

A sharp cry of real pain, because Daisypaw is pinned under Frostleap with her front leg hanging back in an uncomfortable position and Frostleap's claws are above her face.

And as they slam down, decisions are made.

Some part of Frostleap has decided to unsheathe her claws during training.

Daisypaw's panic filled mind decides not to let her turn away

Some part of Frostleap breaks, making the decision that can't, won't stop this,

and I decided to become the villain.

There's blood. Enough of it to make me go numb and shrug off of Daisypaw. Enough to leave a small trail as she runs away.

I don't try to stop her. Why should I? She's gotten her punishment.

My eyes catch on the blood again.

And soon, so will I.

My mind leaps from its sluggish, honeydrenched calm and rockets into overdrive.

What did I just do?

This wasn't a punishment! You clawed her. She'll be scarred, or worse.

The blood didn't just appear, a trick of the light at the end of an intensive training session. It's real, here because she was bleeding when she ran away.

I clawed an apprentice from my own clan on purpose.

They'll kill me.

Not, "they'll kill me!" in the way a queen will "kill" her kit for sneaking out of the nursery, with a swat and a reprimand. They will chase me until I collapse and drag me back to camp, where they'll be waiting with deadly nightshade, or worse, Greystorm…

Greystorm.

Any thoughts I had of attempting to reason, to apologize and beg for forgiveness, mercy, vanish. How could I ever face my sister again? My wonderful sister, who is a model warrior, a model queen, a model mothersisterdaughtereverything.

Easy. I can't.

It takes me a moment to realize I'm walking away, but when my brain catches up with my paws it does nothing to stop it, just speeds me up until I'm running away from it all, my kin, my clan, my home, my-

Nothing, now.

I cross the exterior border before I thought I would, the heavy stench of generations of cats ferociously declaring that they'll protect what's inside fading behind me.

I broke the rules, so I can't keep playing the game. Better leave before the other players get mad.

Running is cleansing. Running faster, harder than I should brings wonderful pain. The burn in my legs, the pain in my lungs chases the pain in my heart, or maybe my spirit. All of it blurs into a steady stream that keeps me going even as it threatens to shut me down.

I'm not quite sure when I crossed into twoleg territory, but must have been some time ago. The ground under my paws is smooth and hard, and a whole host of unfamiliar smells bombard me from every direction. All around me is grey and dark, evenly shaped things taller than trees and crawling with twolegs. I'm away from my Stormclan, but I'm trapped.

After a couple more strides, my legs start to shake and refuse to keep going at this pace. I quickly look for a place to stop.

It can't be anywhere I can be seen by passing cats, who might ask questions. Nowhere being lived in, whether by twolegs or other cats. Preferably, somewhere where I can see the sky.

I find the ideal place with minimal searching. The bright colors of a flower draw my attention to a still, empty twoleg den. The empty spaces in the den don't glow like most of the others, and there are no monsters sleeping in front.

The flowers are roses. Rare in clan territory, but flourishing here.

I wind my way through thorns and notched leaves, settling on a pile of rotting petals. The stench is wet and suffocating, but better than the smog of the rest of Twolegplace.

Things quiet, and my heart gradually calms. Adrenaline seeps out of my fur, leaving me exhausted. Who knew you can't run at full speed for that long without your body rebelling against you?

As sleep approaches, the stillness and silence take hold of me, barely at first, then as suddenly as if I'd plunged into icy water.

_What have you done?_

_You'll never see them again, not after that…_

The cold settles on my pelt, a thick cloud that keeps me miserable and lets no light in.

_No more being a warrior, sworn to protect and defend._

The cloud solidifies into fat raindrops that splash and drip off the leaves, dribble onto my muzzle.

_No more kin. No prey with Snowpelt. No patrols with Greystorm. No training with Daisypaw. _

I should really move. The rain's only getting harder, and these infernal flowers offer no protection.

_No more-_

Enough. I've made my decision, and there no changing it. I swat the whisper back with my tail and fall asleep.

I wake up damp, sore and miserable. My legs scream in protest whenever I so much as twitch, and I think I've got a fever. The whispers have faded with the cold, giving way to a murky dawn.

I should hunt, but I can barely move. I should think, plan for what's left of my future, but my mind is clogged with half formed thoughts of guilt and anger and fear.

So I do the only thing I can: I sleep.

Cats wreath around me in my dreams. A snowy cat that looks like Snowpelt muzzles me then bites my ear. Someone beautiful and lean scowls at me from the edges.

Shadows look on with gleaming bright eyes and purr under their breath.

I awaken with a thorn digging into my ear and my legs able to move again. I stand and shake off the rose petals, getting my first breath of fresh air in moons.

Now I know I have to think. I can't stay here, sulking in a rose bush until I starve to death or get greencough form the rain.

I stand in the sun, tail curled neatly over my legs, and spell out my options.

The first one that comes to mind is that I could return to Stormclan, beg forgiveness, and hope for mercy.

Not likely. Brightstar would kill me on sight. I don't think I would fight back.

I could accept life as a loner, a rogue, and live here. Make a proper den, or find one, and try not to die.

Bearable, but not preferred. I may have failed miserably at the most basic aspect of being in ne, but at heart I belong in a clan.

Which leaves me with one option, so unlikely that I hardly dare to consider it:

I hide here; wait for my scent and story to fade. Warp my sleek white pelt, my leaf green eyes, past recognition and do the unthinkable.

Join Rainclan: the enemy.

Well, not exactly the enemy, I think. If the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and I've made myself an enemy of Stormclan, then would Rainclan not be my friend, or at least an ally?

It's ridiculous, and dangerous. I doubt Stormclan didn't tell them about me, so it's just as likely that they would kill me on sight as Stormclan. And I might even have to interact with Stormclan, a death sentence for sure.

So I'll go with the only plausible option: I'll stay here. I can keep the others as last resorts, or fantasies, but if I'm going to stay alive, I need to stay here.

I drag myself out to hunt, and clumsily catch a scrawny mouse. On my way back to the roses, I find a puddle of water clear enough to drink.

The mouse and water both taste like monster stench, but give me enough energy to get some work done. I weave some of the stems into a roof to block future rain, and find some things to use in a nest. Rotting rose petals do not leave a pleasant smell.

In the end, I stand bloody over my spoils. The war against the thorns was long and hard, and I am victorious, though not unscathed. Rose thorns are not kind, and my legs sting from their bite and my mouth from ripping them off the stems of my nest.

But I have a home again.

My den comes with a sense of routine. I wake up each day, flick away beetles and crawl out of the den. Then I hunt, trying to get enough to last me the rest of the day. What I do after that depends. Make repairs to the den, brush up on battle skills, or nap, mostly.

It feels strangely calm. Shouldn't I be completely distressed? Shouldn't I spend every waking moment begging Starclan for forgiveness? Because I'm not, and I don't. Honestly, the whole… incident... feels like a strange dream, brought on by the exhaustion of running or a bad pigeon.

As days pass, I let myself believe it was. Living in a clan seems foreign to me now. Did I ever really purr with Greystorm and Breezeclaw? Did I really spend my days patrolling with clanmates? It feels unlikely.

Of course, normalcy and routine don't last forever.

The day seems like any other when I wake up. Various debris has fallen through the cracks of my den, and I brush it off. I squeeze out from between the thorns-

And stop short.

The old twoleg den that my rose bushes lean against has been quiet and still, presumably since long before I arrived, but now it hums with life. Monsters crouch in the front, some twolegs, (two adults, one kit,) lurk while other twolegs carry strange pelts and stones in and out of the den. In what I think is a brightly colored stone sits a kit, seemingly content with her confinement.

She catches sight of me and opens her mouth- to greet me or summon her twolegs? And I run.

This isn't like before, when I was numb and running just to get away from everything. Now my mind is sharp with panic, wildly thinking about where I'm going.

I list my options:

Go back and become a kittypet.

No. I would sooner die than become like that kit, happy and complacent and trapped inside.

I could go to a different part of the Twolegplace, continue to be a rogue, live in my own.

This would be the best thing. I would be somewhat safe, and I'd never have to deal with any of the mess I'd left behind.

But… my mind whispers, is the city any better? These cats don't have souls...

It's true. Only days after I arrived I saw a young tom fight an elder for prey. Three guesses who won.

I have another option. It's crazy, but then again, maybe it's just me.

I'm going to join Rainclan.

Rainclan is a clan that values communication. They are very peaceable, and every battle I know of them fighting was initiated by Stormclan. They value education, and because of this elders are highly revered for their wisdom.

This is everything I know about my future clan, and it becomes my mantra on the way to it.

As I near the edges of the city, I begin to see the holes in my plan. What if Rainclan won't accept me? What if I'm seen? The do clans do meet most full moons…

Nonsense, my mind cuts off. Rainclan is compassionate. And surely you won't be allowed to attend any gatherings for many, many moons.

Of course. The only thing I need to worry about is whether I'll act weak and pitiable or strong so they'll know I'm an asset.

I reach the exterior border of clan territory long before I feel the need to rest. I left the rose bushes just after sun up, and I'll be sleeping in the Rainclan warriors den tonight.

I didn't take into account how intoxicating the familiarity will be. How many times have I walked past that tree? How difficult would it be for me to figure out which of my clanmates the Stormclan warriors patrolled here last? How long would I have to walk to get back to my own nest and fall asleep and dream forever and pretend everything is fine?

I forcefully jerk my front paws back on course to Rainclan. For every comfy nest and familiar landmark there is a livid Greystorm, an injured Daisypaw, a horrified clan waiting for me. Going back would be suicide.

So I go forward. I wade past the heavy, damp stench of the Rainclan border. After walking for a few paces, I realize that everything in the territory is damp. The reason they are named Rainclan, and not Dryclan, is obvious.

I don't know where Rainclan makes camp, but I head straight. Surely they're somewhere in the center, aren't they?

A patrol finds me before I find the camp. They all bristle, go on guard immediately.

"Please," I whimper, deciding in a split second to act weak, "My home was destroyed. I heard there were cats who could help me, who were kind…"

Thank Starclan it's almost true. I don't think I could simper like that if I was lying.

All of the warriors relax a bit, but two stay mostly on guard. The other one, a she cat with a pelt as snowy as my own and deep yellow eyes, walks right up to me.

"Oh, you poor dear! Losing your home must have been horrible! Come back to camp with us, Icestar can help you."

"Uhh... Doveheart? Are you sure that bringing strange cats back to camp is a good idea?" One of the toms asks.

As spine-pricklingly terrifying as it is to be under suspicion, I'm glad to know at least one of them has a brain in their furry heads.

"Oh, hush! She needs our help, don't you…" she stares at me, before tentatively asking, "Dear, what is your name?"

"F-" I whisper automatically. Stupidstupidstupid I can't give my real name. "Rose," I blurt out. It's the first thing that comes to mind, and not that bad of a name.

She nods, as if my having a name validates everything. "Rose needs our help. Anyway, if she was going to ambush us, we'd have more back up at camp."

So they're all hiding brains somewhere in there. Who knew?

We slog to camp, me guarded by the two toms, Doveheart leading the way. I don't think I'm ever going to get used to this territory, though. It's horribly humid and my paws are covered in mud by the time we get there.

Rainclan camp is not at all what I expected. Unlike the sunken hollow amongst the trees where Stormclan makes its home, Rainclan camp is on flat land. There are willow trees providing shade, but the only other shelter is smooth boulders, some with caves in them. A few cats mill about in the center, but camp is mostly deserted.

All heads turn when we walk past the guard. One of those heads is that of the leader.

I recognize Icestar, and I pray she doesn't recognize me. Surely a leader with her own clan doesn't have time to memorize the names and faces of other cats? I can't still smell like Stormclan, surely by now I smell like rotting roses and dirt, I hope.

She stares at me, then at the patrol.

"Doveheart," she mews, "I know I'm old, but surely I'm not forgetting one of my warriors. Who is that?"

"Icestar, this is Rose. Her home was destroyed, and she wants to stay with us."

Icestar looks at me. "Is this true?"

I nod, and squeak out a yes. It definitely seems like I'll be playing the weak angle, with these cats.

"Well," She pauses to think, "I see no harm in letting you stay with us for a while. If it seems like the best course of action, you may even become a warrior of the clan. Is that something you would like?"

I don't bother with words, just nod. I can't believe how easy this was turning out to be! Some of the tension, the fear that had been creeping around in me was starting to bleed out. This would work. I would earn Rainclan's trust, leave the past behind, and live the rest of my life in peace.

"Doveheart, please take Rose to Fennelseed's den. She'll need to be looked over, and possibly treated."

'I'm in good health, Icestar," I say. Why would they think I need the medicine den? I'm not injured or sick.

"Just in case. Go along."

That's an order. Even I can tell. I don't object as Doveheart leads me to one of the boulder caves, and hands me over to the medicine cat.

"Fennelseed, this is Rose. She's-"

"I was listening. Thank you, Doveheart, I can take care of her from here," Fennelseed, the tawny medicine cat, mews.

Doveheart looks disappointed for a second, and then recovers. "Okay, Fennelseed. You know best. Rose, if you need anything, just let me know!" then skips away.

Skips. And all but promised that she wasn't going to leave me to myself. Wonderful.

I look around the den while Fennelseed looks me over. The cave is as dry as anywhere else in this territory, and cool. Herbs are stuffed in every crevice, and buried in shallow holes. In one place, water drips into a hollow stone. Convenient.

"You can lie down in that nest. You seem fine, but I'll have Greypaw bring you something for shock. You can stay in here until Icestar decides where to put you." She says, sounding a bit bored. I can't help but be a bit frustrated at that. What's going on in Rainclan where the medicine cat is bored with a new arrival? And why do I have to stay in the medicine den?

But I don't say it out loud. It takes a lot of concentration, but I remind myself that right now I'm here on their generosity, and shouldn't be complaining about anything I'm given.

Fennelseed leaves the den, and I'm alone. I guess they expect me to rest, but I'm just not tired. Losing the rosebush doesn't seem that important now, especially not what I played it up to be for Rainclan.

And besides, there's no way the loss of a scraggly bush can compare to being back in a clan. Maybe it's not the one I really wanted, but it's the best I'm getting.

After a few moments, a thin grey apprentice walks in, a bundle of herbs in his mouth. He looks at me with big eyes, as if waiting for me to slit his throat.

I'm really starting to hate apprentices.

"Are those for me?" I ask in my sweetest voice. Not easy, because those herbs are anything but sweet.

He gives a fearful nod, and drops them in front of me.

"Chamomile, for shock, and dandelion for soreness."

I swallow them in one gulp, and resist spitting them right back up.

"Thank you," I choke out. Then something occurs to me. "How did you know to get something for soreness? I never mentioned it." Of course my legs are sore, I've ran more in the past few days then I have in my whole life. But not once did I mention it, just because I didn't think it was important.

"Oh, Fennelseed could tell by the way you were walking. Hope you feel better." He mews, and then scuttles out of the den.

I'm left staring. Could Dappleburr have done that? She saw Stormclan founded, surely she could. Surely she's seen it all.

This whole clan is bizarre. I want to think about what I've gotten myself into, but the sleeping herbs I'm sure were hidden in that bundle take effect and I'm asleep.

When I awake, Fennelseed is sorting herbs across the den.

"Good, you're awake. Icestar wanted to talk to you. Her den is directly across for this one.

I stand, surprised to find that my legs and shoulders feel fine. I roll my neck, happy to find no crick.

"I'll go. How long was I asleep?" I ask.

She tilts her head while she thinks. "Well, were asleep when I came in at sundown, and now it's just past dawn. "

I shake out my pelt. "Good. I didn't oversleep. Thanks for the help!" I mew, and then walk out of the den. My happiness is a little less forced this morning, and I can't find anything to stop it for. The sun is beginning to burn off some moisture, and I'm in a clan. Warriors mill around, eating prey and getting ready for patrols. I catch sight of a tom grabbing one of a cluster of mice, and I make a note to go get one when I'm done with this meeting.

Icestar's den is under the roots of a willow tree, where they lift up to form a small cave. When she sees me, she beckons me in.

I squeeze through the opening, and emerge into a dark space. I can't see much, but it's not as claustrophobically small as I expected.

"Well, Rose, we're here to discuss your future with Rainclan. Right now, you have two options. Would you like to hear them?"

I nod, before realizing she probably couldn't see me.

"Yes, please," I mew.

"Well, the first is straightforward. You stay with Rainclan until you can find a new home."

She pauses, and I realize she's waiting for a reaction. I murmur an "Okay," and wait for her to continue.

"The second option is that you join Rainclan. You will have to learn both how my clan functions, and go through the training that all my warriors do. Since I know little about you, you will be on probation for the duration of your apprenticeship. "

Reasonable. In fact, I'd call it wise.

"Which do you choose?' Icestar asks.

I pause. With only a few words, I will become my former enemy. I will be taking on a new name, an entirely new life.

I will leave Stormclan behind.

"I would like the second one, please," I mew, like I'm choosing a piece of prey.

I hear a small purr before Icestar continues.

"Wonderful. Let's get started immediately." She leans her head out of the den, and looks around.

"Sleetpelt, come here for a moment."

Icestar steps out of the den, and I follow.

The sudden sunlight fills my vision with black splotches, but I can see I dark grey tom approach. He walks casually, and he sits right down when he reaches us.

Not a good way to show respect for your leader.

At least, that's what I think until she sits right next to him. Uneasily, I sink down as well.

On eye level, with my eyes finally adjusted, I can see him better. He looks about my age, with green eyes and a pelt that's just as blue as grey. He catches my eye, and I realize I may have been looking at him for longer than necessary. Instead I focus on a dangling leaf a tail length above Icestar's head.

"Sleetpelt, Rose here is going to join Rainclan."

"That's good, Icestar. New warriors are great for the clan!" He mews.

"I think that you would be a great mentor, as well as a friend, to help her get accustomed to clan life."

I jerk my eyes back to him. No, I wasn't missing anything. He didn't turn into a senior warrior when I wasn't looking.

So they just let the young warriors do all the training? The more I learn about this clan, the stranger it gets.

When my eyes go back into focus, I notice I'm not the only one staring. Sleetpelt is looking between me and Icestar. Icestar is looking expectantly at the both of us.

"Icestar, I'm honored, but I haven't even had a clan apprentice yet. Are you sure I'm the best cat for this? Maybe one of the senior warriors may be better?"

Mentally, I sort Sleetpelt into my all-too-short list of sane cats in this clan.

"Sleetpelt, I choose you instead of senior warrior for the reasons I just told you. I think that having a friend is important for all warriors, and at the moment Rose has barely been introduce to most of the clan. And if I didn't think you were a capable mentor, I wouldn't have chosen you."

He nods, and I can tell he's a bit less tense. However, I feel I'm at full tenseness.

It just hit me I'm going to be an apprentice again.

Seven moons of my life, seven miserable moons, and I'm not done yet.

I notice Icestar is looking at me.

"Is this agreeable to you?"

"Of course.' I mew. No use arguing, I guess. He's no Flintfoot, but hey, he's also no Petalflight.

"Wonderful. We'll have the ceremony at sunhigh."

And then she walks away, leaving Sleetpelt and I sitting there alone.

He turns to me. "Hi. I'm Sleetpelt."

"Hi. I'm Rose." I'm never going to get used to that name.

"Well, I know I'm not technically your mentor yet, but I think the first thing I could teach you is what a mentor is. "

I start to open my mouth, and then snap it shut and give a mute nod. I was about to tell him not to bother, because I already know, how old do I look to you? Because I think I'm stupid.

"Well, when a kit turns six moons old, they leave the nursery where they stayed with their mother, and get a mentor. The mentor teaches them how to hunt and fight."

He looks at me, and then something crosses over his face. "But don't worry, we don't fight often. Stormclan is our only enemy, and they're not that bad."

I nod, and look relieved. I guess it's not that hard, because the less I see Stormclan the better.

"But with you, we'll have to teach you more stuff, like how the clan works. But don't worry, it shouldn't take more than a couple of moons and you'll be a Rainclan warrior!"

He seems excited, and the happiness is contagious. I purr, for the first time in what feels like moons. In fact, it may have been moons.

"Any questions?' he asks. I shake my head no, but then I realize I'm not acting nearly clueless enough for a rogue that's been in a clan for two days.

"Wait, yes.' I search for something he didn't explain. "What do warriors do?"

"Well, warriors protect and serve the clan. We hunt; we fight off enemies or hostile animals, and keep the elders and queens- mothers with kits- safe and happy. Mentors teach the next generation, so they can take over when we get old." He puffs out his chest a bit. "I've been a warrior for six moons, and I'll been one for many moons more."

I was only a warrior for four moons, but I've already had an apprentice. But don't feel bad, because I didn't protect or serve anybody. I fought, but against my own apprentice.

I want to tell him, but I think I'd die if I spoke those words. If I didn't drop dead, on the spot, I have no doubt he'd kill me.

"That's wonderful," I say, trying to sound a bit awestruck. No reason not to stroke his ego a bit.

"Well, you'll be a warrior soon, too. And apprenticeship is really fun too." he says, in the modest voice of those caught bragging.

I choke back bile. Apprenticeship and fun are not two words I associate.

We make small talk, and he points out warriors to me, even introduces me to some. Doveheart smothers me with happiness and pride, more than a day of knowing each other warrants. She also showers Sleetpelt with congratulations on getting an apprentice, and leaves us both swimming in praise.

Sunhigh comes before I know it, and Icestar calls a meeting.

"Cats of Rainclan, gather before the speaking branch for a clan meeting!"

Well, that's different. But I get the message, and follow Sleetpelt to the front of the crowd.

"Rainclan, Rose has sought help from our clan, and in return has offered to train as a warrior. I have decided that Sleetpelt will be her mentor

She looks down at me from her perch on a branch, and Sleetpelt nudges me forward. I step up, and wait for her to begin the actual ceremony.

"Rose, do you agree to train as a warrior of Rainclan? Do you promise to let your loyalties lie solely with Rainclan? Do you swear to do everything in your power to protect those who are weaker than yourself?"

My head swims a bit. I failed last time, what's stopping me from ruining everything again? What will they do if I repay their generosity with heartbreak?

I swallow hard. Easy answer: I won't give them a chance to find out.

"I do."

Sleetpelt steps forward.

"Sleetpelt, do you agree to train this apprentice to the best of your ability? Will you teach her the ways of Rainclan, and allow her to become a warrior?"

He nods. "Yes."

Icestar turns back to me. "Rose, from this day until you earn your warrior name, you will be known as Rosepaw. Sleetpelt will be your mentor, and the clan supports you in your quest to become a warrior."

The cheering starts and I try to find happiness in it. I am an apprentice again with an open future. I have two cats I can call friends, and a supportive clan that wants me to succeed.

But I don't have a sister that loves me unconditionally, or a supportive mother, or even my idiot of a brother. And right now, I feel the absence more than the gain.

"- around the territory, do you think?"

Sleetpelt was talking to me. I don't want to make him repeat himself, so I just nod and follow as he walks past the guard.

It turns out we were on a tour of the territory. He points out where most battle training takes place, where you can catch what prey, where the border patrol goes. I nod and ask questions I know the answer to, but occasionally I do have legitimate questions, like what a clan could possibly want with a huge pile of pebbles.

"Well, that's the rockpile. It's an important landmark, and where we regroup in emergencies or battles. Besides, it's shiny after the rain, so it's always shiny." He rolls his eyes.

I purr, because when was the last time I heard a joke?

"Come on. We'll rest here while I explain the warrior code."

I know the warrior code. I have to bite my tongue to keep from reciting it with him.

Defend your clan, stay in the borders, feed and care for the kits and elders, don't disobey or quit the clan. Be good, and keep your clan safe and happy.

"The code is what we live by. It comes before even Icestar, and only the word of Starclan comes before it."

A perfect Rosepaw question: "What is Starclan?"

"Well, Starclan are our warrior ancestors. When an honorable warrior, apprentice, kit or elder dies, they become a star and have eternal hunting. "

A not-so-perfect Rosepaw question, but a typical Frostleap one: "What about the dishonorable ones?"

"What do you mean?" He asks, staring at me a bit worriedly.

"Well, not every warrior can be good, right? What happens to those who break the warrior code, disobey Starclan?"

He closes his eyes, and I can't tell if he's thinking, or if he's just upset with the answer.

"They go to a place with no stars. Let's not think about that, though. We can go back to camp and get some prey. Tomorrow I'll teach you how to catch your own."

I pass my hunting assessment the day after my first lesson.

"Wow. You're good at this," He mews as I plop another bird in front of him.

I sigh, because I once again have failed at failing and have let Frostleap show through Rosepaw.

"I had to hunt on my own before I came here. And you know I still have huge problems with fishing." I say, nudging Sleetpelt with my tail.

"Whatever, fish isn't that big a part of our diet. If you can catch a fish every now and then, you'll keep your dignity intact."

So then we move on to fighting. I expect to breeze through this too, with only errors I make on purpose, but I'm proved wrong on the second day.

Once again I've showed that I know the basics, so Sleetpelt skips to the advanced stuff. My problem: Rainclan's definition of advanced is completely different from Stormclan's

Sleetpelt starts the lesson with a lecture, which should have clued me in. Even Flintfoot didn't have anything to explain too heavily on fighting.

"Rainclan has unique fighting skill that we have never seen other cats use."

"Even Stormclan?" I ask skeptically. The only time I've ever fought against Rainclan was a minor border skirmish, and I didn't see anything out of the ordinary.

"Even Stormclan. Rainclan cats discovered that there are certain places on a cats body that hurt more than most, or can even make a cat sleep for several hours if hit correctly. We try not to use them, but it's important to be prepared."

The lesson, and the ones that follow, are agony. Sleetpelt isn't kidding when he says that some places hurt more than others. Sadly, he also isn't kidding when he says it's a rule that every apprentice must know what the feel like before they're allowed to use them.

Note to self: never get hit in the foreleg again. Really, there are too many ways to hurt a cat in that one area.

I lay on the ground, seconds after having found this out, half delirious with pain.

"Owowowowowow" I moan, unable to do much else.

Through my squinted eyes, Sleetpelt looks a bit frantic, pacing around me.

"I'm so, so, sorry, you have to do that to get it."

Finally, he drops down next to me.

"Hey, now you can officially use that on others! You can hit me back!" He mews, a tiny shred of desperation in his voice.

"Don't wanna hurt you, idiot, "I hiss out. "I wouldn't wish that wish that on anyone."

"Hey," he says, leaning over and licking the top of my head, "I get it. Every warrior had to go through that. It's so we know not to use it whenever we want to"

I don't move, or say anything. He probably thinks it's from the pain, but in reality it's because my train of thought is going something like this:

Whatdidhejustdoowowmylegsreallyhurtsbutreallywhatwasthatowpainpainlegwhydidhelickmyheadokaylegshurtslessnevermindstillhurtswhatjusthappened

I take a deep breath. The pain in my leg is finally started to recede, and I'm able to sit up.

"Wait, so you're saying that every grown cat in this clan could do that at any given moment?"

He purrs. "Pretty much. Hey, you're one of us now! Come on, let's spread the news!"

We make our way back to camp, me leaning heavily on him. Every cat that sees me asks: "Advanced training?" and when I nod, gives me a sympathetic look.

Doveheart makes me sit under one of the willow trees on a warm rock, and brings me wet moss like I'm sick.

"I know it hurts. But Sleetpelt doesn't mean it, of course. He's really sweet! And everyone understands. I remember when I had to…"

She launches off on some long winded story about her old mentor, and I think about the other thing that happened today. After lingering over it for about three embarrassed seconds, I decide not to worry about it. I let Doveheart's happy voice and the warmth of the rock lull me to sleep.

Half a moon later, I take my final assessment. Icestar, Sleetpelt, and some crotchety senior warrior watch me hunt, spar against Sleetpelt, and answer questions about Rainclan.

Icestar and Sandpetal say they'll discuss, but Sandpetal whispers that I've nothing to worry about.

When they're gone, Sleetpelt nuzzles me and says he's proud of me as we walk back to camp. It's not the first time he's done something like that lately, but I can't say I mind. As long as I don't turn into something like Greystorm was with Brambletail (Or was it Brakenclaw? Brackentail? I honestly don't remember anymore.)

Then again, it would be hard to annoy everyone I talk to by talking about him, because I only really talk to Doveheart and she talks about him as much as I do. I swear, if we weren't all the same age I'd think she was his mother for all she dotes on him.

My warrior's ceremony is the next day. I think I like my new name better than the old one. Roseclaw. It suits me.

Everyone cheers, but I hear Doveheart and Sleetpelt above the rest. It's funny, but when I first arrived I thought Doveheart was annoying and Sleetpelt only slightly sane. Now I love them both, even if I still think Doveheart can get a little grating.

My Rainclan vigil isn't much different than my Stormclan one. I just reflect on what it means to be a warrior of this clan.

I have a name, a den, a leader, a clan, a friend, and maybe even a mate. The little that could make it better isn't happening, and there's no point mourning it.

Being a warrior of Rainclan isn't much different than being a warrior of Stormclan. I rise at dawn, either get assigned to a patrol or don't. When I'm not on a patrol I eat or share tongues or nap. At sundown I go to the warriors den and sleep.

The night of the full moon is the first disruption to my routine. It's a gathering, and I fully expect to stay at camp for it.

"I'll be taking Silverbriar, Blacktail, Barkfur, Lightningfur, Bluepelt, Jaydrop, Sleetpelt, and Roseclaw." Icestar says, standing at the edge of camp.

Doveheart asks us to bring back news, and then we're off.

"I wonder why she brought me," I ask Sleetpelt as we race towards the gathering place, a small peak between territories.

"Probably so you can meet some of Stormclan. Why? Did you not want to come?" He pants. Icestar calls out that we're running late, so we reluctantly pick up our pace.

No, I don't want to be recognized by Stormclan or worse see Greystorm or, Starclan forgive, Daisypaw.

"No, I was just wondering why she wouldn't bring more senior warriors."

We soon reach the peak, and we begin the hardest part: climbing. It's like some giant cat under the ground stood up and pushed up some earth with its head, a flat space with steep sides.

We're up at the top when Stormclan arrives. I shrink back behind Sleetpelt, thankful that white pelts aren't all that uncommon in Rainclan.

I scan faces, thankful that I see only casual acquaintances. Dappleburr's missing; I guess the old thing finally gave up to Starclan. Petalflight prances by with a young she-kit trailing behind her. I look for Flintfoot until I see.

A young brindled she-cat, purring with another cat I don't recognize. She turns her head, and I see one eye is permanently shut, crossed with claw marks.

I consider pitching myself off the peak.

"Sleetpelt, I have to get down. Heights terrify me," I hiss. Not the best lie, but right now it's all I can think of. I crouch down; both hiding and making my claim seem authentic.

He looks at me with concern, and I think he's about to ask if I can just stay up for now, but he must see the panic in my eyes.

"I'll help you down."

Slowly we crawl down the sides, until we reach the ground. I act more relieved than I actually feel. I nuzzle him and whisper thank you, and try to calm my panic.

Why did you do it?

You clawed an apprentice from my own clan on purpose.

You scared her for life.

"I'm going back up. I promise I'll come get you as soon as it's over."

And then he's gone.

I try to listen to the gathering, but I can hardly hear it over the voices swirling in my head.

_Why?..._

_Clawed her for no reason…_

_Scarred forever…_

_Finally I settle, lying on the ground with my paws over my ears._

Suddenly I feel a tail brush over my back.

"Are you okay?" Sleetpelt asks.

"I'm fine, now. The gathering's over already?"

"I think you fell asleep. It's been a few hours."

"Probably," I say, standing and stretching. I turn towards camp, but Sleetpelt stops me.

"I had an idea. Come with me," and he takes off.

"Hey, wait!" I call, but I'm already following.

I catch up with him at the foot of the rockpile.

"There. Now lie down and look at the stars."

I roll my eyes, but do what he says.

And stop short.

There are no clouds in the sky. The full moon is huge and nearly white in the sky, the stars surrounding it so numerous I could barely see the sky behind them.

"That's why the gathering went on so long. Everyone saw the beautiful sky as a sign Starclan wanted it to continue."

Then he sits down next to me, and we watch the stars. For once we don't try to fill every moment with chatter; we just sit in companionable silence.

At least, until we both start yawning too much to do anything else.

"Come on, let's head back to camp," I get out. "Before we fall asleep here."

"Nah, let's just stay here."

I look over at him.

He looks back. "Why not? They won't miss us, and I'm pretty comfortable here," He stretches a bit, and then rests his head on his paws.

I settle back down. "Okay, when you put it that way."

It's hard to tell when I fall asleep, but I know that I'm warm and happy.

About a moon later, when life is normal, I start to notices pain in my belly. The most terrifying cause drifts in my mind, but I immediately dismiss it.

Until it comes back, and even as I exercise and eat less prey, I gain weight.

I go to Fennelseed for the first time since the day I arrived, and she confirms my worst fears.

"Congratulations," she mews, her face the closest I've ever seen to amusement, "They'll come in leafbare. Not the best time for kits, but you'll manage."

It takes me a few days to work up the nerve to tell Sleetpelt, but I shouldn't have worried.

"That's wonderful! We're having kits!" He leans forward to nuzzle me, and I let him. It's comforting, and reassuring, because the whispers are back

_If you did that to Daisypaw, what'll you do to kits?_

I move into the nursery, and a few days later, so does Doveheart.

I'm… surprised to see her. It's not that didn't expect her to have kits, It's just that I never really thought about it, either.

"Oh, it will be wonderful! Our kits will be best friends, and we can help each other. Sleetpelt is going to be a great father; my kits are going to love him as much as I do..."

I jerk out of the daze that Doveheart's words always put in.

"What do you mean, Sleetpelt will be a great father to your kits?" I ask, with more venom than necessary, considering it's Doveheart.

"Of course! Who else?" She purrs. "Who's the father of your kits?" She asks.

"Sleetpelt…" I murmur. It's all I can do to open my mouth, because I feel like I'm going to be sick.

"Oh, our kits will be sister and brothers! That'll be nice!" she says, like it's the most normal thing in the world.

"Doesn't it bother you that he was with both of us?" I hiss out. I sound like I'm being strangled. For all I know, I am, and I just don't notice.

"Silly! Plenty of cats have two mates! Why should I mind if my kits get friends, I get help, and the clan gets more warriors?"

I throw up on her nest.

I apologize over and over, but she brushes it off.

"It happens to a lot of pregnant queens, the other day I could hardly eat anything for feeling sick…"

We clean up, and she decides to take a nap. I wait until she's asleep and hunt down Sleetpelt.

I find him just outside of camp, with a jay in his mouth.

"Hi, Roseclaw! Shouldn't you be in the nursery?"

"I can't believe you," I hiss, sliding up closer.

"Why? What did I do?" He looks mildly panicked. Good.

"Me and Doveheart are due within days of each other. Oh, and the kits have the same father. Really, Sleetpelt. That's just sick."

To my immense annoyance, he looks relieved. "Maybe it's different where you came from, but in Rainclan it's no big deal if a cat has two mates. Let's go back to camp."

"Yeah, where I'm from, a she-cat could claw her mate for being unfaithful," It's true. If Stormclaw had another mate, Snowpelt would have clawed him, Greystorm would have clawed Bramble-brackentail, and the other way around. I'm pretty sure they're not the ones with the problem.

His face hardens, and it occurs to me I've never seen him angry before.

"Well, you're a warrior of Rainclan now. And you need to realize that your loyalty is with us, not the customs of wherever you come from."

He pushes past me, into camp. I stay, seething, in the territory until I can go back without scaring Doveheart.

The moons of living in the nursery, with only Doveheart and Sleetpelt for company as leafbare came were agony, but nothing compared to kitting.

For hours in the middle of the night, I lay in my nest while Fennelseed and Doveheart fuss over me, and Greybranch watches from a safe distance and fetches herbs.

In the end, I have one white kit and something small and grey and dead. Greybranch goes to bury the stillborn, and I'm left alone with my kit, Sleetpelt, and Doveheart.

Maybe alone isn't the right word for it.

Doveheart gushes and Sleetpelt acts like we never argued. (He wouldn't be so happy if he'd heard me cursing his name earlier.) I look at the tiny scrap of fur that's done nothing but nurse and wonder how it's ever going to become a warrior.

Eventually, someone asks what I'm naming her.

After thinking for a few seconds, I say "Goose," with complete certainty.

Doveheart looks at me strangely, like she's waiting for me to start saying I'm a blue jay or something. "Dear, maybe you should rest first, that must have been exhausting."

"I'm not delirious!" I snap. "I'm naming her Goosekit."

There's a pause, before Sleetpelt speaks. "That's a beautiful name, Roseclaw."

It's not. Geese are terrible creatures that do nothing but eat our herbs and prey and are too mean to catch. The only thing this little kit has in common with a goose is its color.

They nod like it makes sense and I fall asleep.

Doveheart kits three days later and I'm asked to help. He mother is there, a plump old warrior named Whitetail, not to mention Fennelseed and Greybranch, but I still have to help for some reason. It's not like I know what I'm doing, and I keep casting worried glances at my own kit, asleep in our nest.

She has two kits, one she names Cloudkit, and one names Stonekit. Whitetail stays around and coddles us both. I think she fancies herself some kind of replacement mother for me, but for all her looks she's not Snowpelt, and that's the only mother I want.

Leafbare winds rattle the camp, and Stonekit is dead within two days.

Doveheart is inconsolable. She loses almost all of her usual cheer, and gets overly possessive of Cloudkit. I'm genuinely worried, but Fennelseed insists that there's nothing to be done.

Sleetpelt comes around every day and comforts us both.

He should be the one suffering. He gave her those kits, something whispers in my mind. It's the same something that reminds me of Stormclan, comments every time I make Goosekit uncomfortable. It blew back in with the leafbare winds, catching rides on the backs of prey as they fled the territory and feeding on my resentment until barely have the strength or desire to fight them off. I do my best to convince myself he is suffering; he doesn't need the added burden of my resentment.

Eventually, Doveheart gets better. Not entirely, but she realizes she has another, living kit when it opens her eyes and they're the exact shade of hers.

I can't tell if Goosekit has mine or Sleetpelt's eyes. I like to think they're mine.

One day, when Goosekit is two moons old and snow blows outside, several cats get greencough.

The next week, two of them die.

Those of us who are well pretend that everything is okay. I see the warriors hunt and deliver their meager prey to us and the sick, and patrol like they don't have to fight snow to leave camp, but leafbare has hit hard. For how much we act like it's no big deal, it is.

We stay warm in the nursery. Goosekit says her first word, "Woze," My heart thaws a good bit and the voices retreat.

Until the day I start to cough.

Doveheart looks at me sharply, and quietly scoots Cloudkit away. She follows this with a story of some kind, but I don't even have to try to tune her out anymore.

The next day I'm still coughing, and I know Sleetpelt wants me moved to the sick den, so his kits and other mate don't get sick. Even though I haven't been formally diagnosed, it's different for queens.

I don't want to be sent to die with them. So one day, the cold and hurt and anger and fear and I make a decision.

The next morning, I give my prey to Doveheart and ask her to take care of Goosekit. She snatches the kit immediately, but I can tell she feels bad about the prey.

"Don't worry. I'm going hunting."

She swallows it before I can change my mind, and then tells me to stay warm.

There is no warm, my mind screams. I keep it in until I leave the den, where the wind and battering snow reinforce the words.

I plod out of camp, somehow managing not to think. It would make this so much more difficult if I knew what I was doing.

When I can't feel my paws but my legs still smart with the cold, I find Sleetpelt, looking for fish in the tiny river. I want to leave him alone, I really do, but he sees me and there's no going back.

"Roseclaw. You need to go back to the nursery. Or better yet, the sick den."

I shake my head.

"Come on, Roseclaw! If you're still mad at me or something, I don't care. Just go back and get some medicine and take care of our kit!"

He's angry, but I'm not. The cold has crept up through my legs and into my head and made it impossible to wonder what I'm doing.

"Don't call me Roseclaw," I say, whisper quiet.

"What? He snarls, "Roseclaw, you're sick. Delirious. I'm taking you back to camp."

He moves towards me, and I crouch down. He keeps coming, though, and I lash out with my claws.

He seems more shocked than hurt when his blood falls on the snow. He just growls out something incoherent and tries to grab me by the scruff.

No. I'm not going back.

Just as he starts to drag me towards camp, I twist and hit his throat.

He drops me immediately, and I'm flooded with relief. I can keep going. I can leave.

But some part of me still loves this tom, maybe not as a mate anymore, but at least as a friend, so I spare him a backwards glance.

Sleetpelt lays on the ground, gasping and choking on a mouthful of blood. I can't believe I didn't remember-

that point, that I learned to hit on the last day of my training, was the most likely to be fatal.

I look at him, and he chokes out something that might me a cry for help.

I lift my claws, and bring them down again.

I make sure he's still, no longer in pain, and then I run, because who expected anything different from me?

The whispers takes on a sickeningly sweet tone as I flee, trying to convince me.

You've done well by Rainclan. He would only have suffered more if you left him. There are two less mouths to feed, Doveheart gets a full litter, and you won't be spreading greencough around anymore.

Some part of me knows it's a lie, but that part's so withered and wilted and nearly gone it doesn't matter.

Because I'm not innocent Frostpaw anymore, or the Rosepaw that had friends and a life.

I'm the Frostleap who blinded Daisypaw. I'm the Rose that tricked a leader into taking in the enemy. I'm the Roseclaw who killed her mate.

Rosefrost. I like the sound of it.

Somehow I find myself at the roses. The actual flowers are gone now, replaced by withered stems, but the den is still there, with a ledge to rest on.

I clamber up, and cough for several minutes straight. I want water more than anything else, but I choke down snow because it's all I have.

And then it hits me.

I have greencough. Away from Fennelseed and Greybranch and whoever replaced Dappleburr, it will turn to greencough and I will die.

I will die, and I will not go to Starclan, because I have broken the warrior code so many times and I will rot in the place of no stars.

I deserve it, but that doesn't mean I'm not afraid.

"Hello?" I hear a tiny mew, and whip my head around.

Behind the clear wall in the side of the twoleg den is a cat.

"Do you need help? My name is Violet."

Violet is a kittypet. Her twolegs are medicine-twolegs, and could heal me if they weren't away. If I could stay until they got back in a week, they would make me better and I could live with Violet.

The idea makes me cough even more.

Violet is too nice to me. She presses pieces of her food through a crack in the clear wall, makes sure I have snow to drink, and tries to get me to come inside.

I refuse. For some strange reason, I don't want to get her sick.

"Are you sure? It's warm in here. We could share my bed, or you could use it-"

"No! Don't c-come to close. You-you don't want to catch this." I hack.

At first, she tries to convince me it'll be okay. She says her twolegs will fix me and we'll be sisters or some load of mouse droppings.

"One time, I had a cough too. She gave me some yucky water, and the next morning I was fine! She'll bring you some yucky water, and then you can come inside with me."

Even if I could, I wouldn't dignify that with a response. This kittypet doesn't understand that twoleg water is nothing like medicine herbs, and will do me no good.

Soon, it becomes obvious even to her that I'm dying without treatment. She's a young thing, obviously panicked that a cat is dying right in front of her, but she tries to hide it, and be strong. This earns her more respect that I've given anyone in a long time.

"When you die, you'll go to the stars and be with you family. It'll be beautiful, and you'll look down at your friends and purr," she consoles. "Maybe you'll even see me!"

"I won't. I don't get stars," I manage to cough out.

Violet tries to argue, but I assure her I've done terrible things. I think I convince her, because she stays away for longer than usual.

One day or night or somewhere in between, I wake up and I can barely breathe and I know that I'm never waking up again. Violet still tries to console me, but I can see the fear in her face.

"Violet," I choke out, "I am going to die today. Please don't leave me alone."

"Of course I won't," she mews, her voice more calming than it has a right to be. "Why would I?"

In truth, I want her here because I'm sure that when I get to the place of no stars I will never have the company of a happy cat again, and I want as much as I can get.

"I'm scared," I mew.

"I know you are. Just… just try to relax. I'll be right back."

"Violet!" I call, because I swear if that kit lets me die alone…

"I'll be right back, I promise! I have to get something for you," she calls out behind her.

I try to hold on. I really do. I hook my claws on the ledge; try to blink away the blackness encroaching on my vision.

I hold on until I see Violet reappear in the window, a half dead rose in her jaw.

A ripple passes through the pool and it shimmers clear. My story is over.

I wanted to gain a few more lightless moons in the dark forest. I decided to live my life over again to buy myself precious time.

"Was it worth it? "

I whip my head towards the voice. Standing in the space where starlight meets darkness, is my horrible, wonderful sister.

"Greystorm…" I whisper.

"Frostleap. Was it worth it?"

My sister follows me to the dark forest, to ask such a simple question?

"Of course not."

"Do you regret it?"

I stare at her. I can barely see more than her outline, the stars in her very pelt blind me. I have so many questions for her, but it seems she has plenty of her own.

"Of course."

"Frostleap," She says sharply. I look up from where my eyes have drifted, to see her staring at me with more conviction that I've ever seen her look at something. "Do you regret getting yourself into this situation, or hurting all those cats?"

Which answer would be better? Act more regretful than I am, swear that my pain is all for Daisypaw and Sleetpelt? Or act tougher than I am, build a shell and say that I want better for myself?

I go with honesty. "Both."

She sighs. "Someday. Frostleap, how close can you come to me?"

I look at her in confusion. Is this a trick?

"I cannot enter Starclan," I mew, hiding my hurt. Is she going to mock me now?

"Just try."

Skeptically, I step towards her until I reach the thin line between starlight and shadow. I stop, but she keeps looking at me, so I try to continue.

I make it three steps into the starlight. I might even be able to go farther, if I weren't shaky from shock.

"Greystorm," I whisper, "what is this?"

"Starclan placed that pool in the dark forest for one purpose: to redeem. No cat with a shred of pure spirit, regret of what they've done, deserves this. Countless cats have experienced this, but few have made it farther than where you stand. Many have refused to try at all. But if a cat does not belong in the dark forest, they shouldn't remain imprisoned."

"Really?" I can't let myself think about what she means, because if I let myself hope and end up wrong, then my pelt might fade away right now.

"For now, Frostleap, you are definitely not allowed in Starclan. A half answer is not enough, not when you've done what you've done. But eternal imprisonment may be too severe. It was decided that if you earn it, you may enter Starclan."

"Greystorm, I see no possible way to earn the trust of Starclan from this stinking forest. "Besides," I purr mirthlessly, "for me eternity wouldn't be that long." I flick my tail at my pelt. Even though both of them, the ground is visible.

"Every action you took in life had repercussions, Frostleap. How do you think losing her sight affected my daughter? Her kits? What about the stress that Doveheart faced when having to take care of the kit of the cat she believed murdered her mate? The questioning Icestar's rule came under shook Rainclan.

"Your life ended, yes, but your actions inspired others, and the echoes can still be heard today, if you listen. If you can find the negative reactions, and halt any ill consequences before they begin, you may truly make things right."

"How?" There's nothing else to say. No way to thank my sister for her wisdom, for giving me a second chance. Only to do what I can not to destroy it.

"Starclan aren't the only ones who can walk in dreams."

And then she turns and walks away. Part of me wants to follow, but I know I can't.

I turn, back towards withered cats who know how to invade dreams. I have to apprentice before I can mentor, I guess.

"Frostleap?"

I turn back towards the stars, where my sister is just close enough to be seen.

"Consider it all the help you're getting from Starclan."

I don't understand, until my paw strikes the ground in front of me, solid.

AN/ First, a disclaimer of sorts: While I did base some of Rosefrost's problems (Bizarre outburst of anger, inability to cope well with traumatic events, hearing negative "whispers" in her head and lack of healthy relationships) on disorders such as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and Post-traumatic stress disorder, they are **not **to be taken as accurate representations of any of these disorders. I have never experienced and could never hope to understand the true implications of having any of these conditions, and do not want anyone getting offended or getting a false impression.

Second, I have to thank the wonderful Konodragon for making this mess readable, and Lightning for making the plot more cohesive. Check them both out.

Next, just a quick note: this story was made to be cannon with both "Starlight" and the bonus one shot at the end of "Not Wasting This" If you didn't notice, go see if you can find the parallels. I'll wait.

Finally, can I just say THANK GOD ITS DONE. I worked on this thing since February, through more drafts than most if my work and more editing than I've given anything. It was originally planned to be ~6000 to 10000 words, but it blew through and hit 15,000. That's almost as long as NWT, which was intended as a much larger project than Wilted. As such, your feedback would be immensely appreciated. Did you like this style? The characters? Would you be interested in a sequel that gave a more definite end to Rosefrost's story, or do you like the more open ending?

Let me know in a review! And go vote on the poll on my profile!


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